


Secrets

by shackalacklargebottom



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Stony - Freeform, Superfamily (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shackalacklargebottom/pseuds/shackalacklargebottom
Summary: I’m sorry, Pop, but whether you do or don’t allow it, it’s happening. I can’t just stop, okay? It’s literally part of who I am.”Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Peter, I’m not going to sit by and watch you put yourself in situations where…” Steve shook his head. “We’re not having a repeat of last night.”“You watch Dad go out and put himself in those exact same situations all the time, you fight alongside him!”“Your father’s a grown man, Peter, and besides that I don’t tell him what to do. When we’re out there, he’s not Tony anymore. He’s Iron Man.”“Why can’t I be Spider-Man instead of Peter?”“Peter, for God’s sake, you might call yourself Spider-Man but you’re still just a kid.”





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/322374) by Floobings. 



> Inspired by artwork by Floobin on tumblr; enjoy!

“You sure you don’t want me to call your parents?”

Dim though it was, the flickering fluorescent tube above the small bed cast just enough harsh white light to force Peter to squint through his mask as he looked up into the familiar face of the man stooped by his bedside. His Spider-Sense prickled uncomfortably as the world swam in and out of focus, making itself known piece by piece; Peter concentrated on these packets of awareness rather than acknowledge the pain pulsating through his body.

The acrid smell of medical-grade disinfectant mingling with the stale iron scent of his own blood where it lingered on his clothes. The faint buzz of the lighting panels in competition with the too-slow, methodical  _beep_  of the EKG to Peter’s left. The sting of a newly inserted IV (merely a tickle, considering what he’d endured over the past few hours; he wondered if he should have warned the nurse that the standard dosage of pain medication doesn’t cut it for genetically enhanced Spider-men. If not for the present circumstances, she’d probably assume he was some insane teenage junkie.)

The piercing blue, all-too recognizable eyes of Captain America, Steve Rogers.

 _Play cool, Parker,_  he warned himself silently.

Peter inhaled, shallowly and much to the protest of his aching ribs, and murmured, “Nah, it’s okay. You… promised you won’t let me die, so I’ll just call them myself later…”

Captain America gripped his shoulder and smiled thinly. “I bet they’d be really proud if they knew you were a superhero.”

 _Well, that’s a knee-slapper._  “More like yell at me and ground me for thirty years,” Peter sighed, slipping into a coughing fit as he laughed weakly.

Cap’s grip on his shoulder tightened as Peter’s ragged breathing slowly returned to a steady rhythm. He paused, then replied, quietly, “Well, I would be proud of you if you were my son.”

 _Someone should have warned the inventor of irony that someday it would be sorely abused._ Peter forced a smile behind his mask. “Really? Ha… At least Cap is on my side then…” Abruptly, Peter found himself shuddering and struggling for breath. “Uh… It’s… getting… really cold… in here…”

Vaguely, Peter was aware of the sudden panicked alert issued by the EKG, followed by a strangled “No!” from Captain America. A nurse appeared, snapping brusquely, “Heart failure!”; a second, calling, “Take off his mask!”; and a third, driving Cap away with, “Captain, I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave the room, now!”

The last thing Peter heard before he slipped into unconsciousness was the dismayed voice of Captain America: “Just… make sure he’ll be alright…” followed by the curt reply of the nurse, “We will.”

_Sorry, Pop…_

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Steve Rogers pressed his forehead against the glass. The kindest way to describe the night would have been “eventful”. The kid had taken the worst of it, by far- shown up out of the blue and saved their skins, miraculously, but in doing so he’d taken the brunt of the injuries as well.  _A genius in high-powered armored superweapon, an indestructible giant fueled by blind rage, a_  God,  _two master assassins, not to mention me, and we still needed the help of a kid, probably not even any older than Peter. Unbelievable._ He stared through the window at the chaos within as various nurses swarmed over the unconscious body on the table.

“I guess now we’ll see whose parents we’ll be calling,” Tony muttered from somewhere behind him, still partially encased in armor. “Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So, Tony Stark here, just calling to let you know your son is probably dead. Good news is, he’s a superhero. Well, he was, anyway.”

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking his eyes off the boy for only a moment. “Tony, there is  _nothing_  funny about this…” There was a glimpse of the boy’s unmasked face as nurses scuttled around him, wielding a defibrillator menacingly. “This is serious. Imagine if we ever got a call like that, it’s-“

The end of Steve’s sentence latched onto the tip of his tongue and stayed there as his heart plummeted into his stomach.

“ _Peter?!_ ”

“It’s  _what?_ ”

Steve’s blood ran icy cold; Tony stiffened with a sharp intake of breath.

“N…no.” Steve slammed one open palm against the glass, watching in horror as one of the masked doctors attached the pads to Peter’s chest, choking as the boy’s upper body spasmed from the shock.

“Please. No.” Tony breathed. The two men stood paralyzed, watching the doctors fight to save their son, when the curtain was drawn around the bed, leaving behind only silhouettes.

“That’s my son.  _That’s my son!_ ”

“Captain?”

“Peter!”

“Mr. Stark, please-”

 _“That’s my kid in there._ ”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Peter alighted clumsily on the windowsill, invisible in the darkness, freezing momentarily; his limbs felt like lead _._  Cautiously, he leaned forward, assessing the coast to be clear. Peter inched his way forward, silently, and slipped through the window and into his room.  _Good, at least now all I’ll have to do is come up with an explanation for the morning. They’re going to kill me if they think I’ve been out all night-_

“He’s returned, sir.”

_Dammit, JARVIS! I thought we had a deal?!_

Peter scrambled to tear off his mask as he heard the clamorous footsteps coming down the hallway. He winced as, with a bang, the door to his room flew open. The lights automatically flared into life, revealing Peter, battered and bloody, standing with his hands on the window, slamming it shut.

"Pop, Dad, this isn’t what it looks like, I can explain-” Peter whirled to face his fathers. His heart sank, even as his next retort died on his lips.

Steve’s eyes were red, as though he’d been crying, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his expression unreadable. Tony’s hand covered his mouth, eyes wide as he drank in the sight of his son. The faces of both men were beyond weary, as if they’d been awake for years upon end.

Peter glanced from one man to the other and began, “No, look, see, it’s-“

“Give me the mask, Peter.” Steve’s voice was rough and eerily quiet. Peter hesitated.

“The mask, Peter. Now.”

Peter made his way across the room, limping slightly, and wordlessly handed the mask to his father. Steve overturned the fabric in hand, examining it.

"How long did you think you could keep this from us?”

“Pop, look, I’m sorry, but-“

"Pete, what are you even doing here?” Tony murmured exasperatedly. “Why the hell would you even leave the hospital?”

“There was nobody there. And anyway, it was too risky, you know, anonymity and all-“

“Yeah, funny thing about anonymity,” Steve cut in, raising his voice, “apparently even when you  _insist_  that someone is your son they refuse to let you stay with him, for the sake of his ‘identity’.”

Peter sagged, for a beat. “Pop…”

“This is  _not_  happening again, Peter, got it? If we had gotten that phone call…” Steve trailed off, clenching the mask tightly. He sighed. “I’m upping security on your room. No more late-night excursions, no more of  _this_.” He gestured slightly with the mask, then, blue eyes piercing Peter’s, concluded, “No more Spider-Man.”

“No.” Peter’s chest cavity seemed to open up further still, allowing his heart to drop even lower. “No, I know you’re upset, but-”

“You heard me. We’re not going through this again, Peter.”

“Are you kidding me?! I saved your asses tonight, what about that?” Peter exploded. “You  _needed_  me!” His voice cracked as he raged, “I took this for you! I fought for you!” He breathed heavily for a moment, then spat, “You still proud of me, Pop?”

Steve glared at his son, eyes growing shiny with tears unshed. Peter sagged, for a beat. “Look, I’m sorry, I’m okay now, alright? I was fine, I’ve had worse-“

“Worse?! Pete, do you realize you  _died_  in there?!” interrupted Tony, eyes blazing. “They had to pump a thousand volts into your chest to get you breathing again,  _do you understand?_ ” Tony’s voice broke as he grimaced momentarily, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Peter, we almost lost you.” Steve murmured, barely above a whisper, looking away from his son. Tony’s shoulders jerked, and a small, muffled choking sound escaped from between his fingers.

“Dad…” Peter’s throat tightened. He warily drew closer to his fathers, reaching out a tentative hand. In the next instant he found himself encircled by Tony’s arms. Tony’s hand came to rest on the back of Peter’s head, pressing him into his chest.

“Peter…” Tony said softly, brow furrowed as he kissed his son’s forehead. Steve wrapped his arms around the pair, crying silently.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” Peter managed, as his head began to swim.  _Uh oh_. “Dad…” he said again, groaning as he leaned heavily against Tony’s shoulder.

“Peter? JARVIS? Pete, bud-“

“His vitals are normal, sir. Just over exhausted.” Peter unceremonially collapsed against his father, the world going black around him.

“I’ve got him. I’ve got him.”  Steve voice washed over Peter as he felt himself being scooped up. As he faded into unconsciousness, he felt a single tear drop onto his cheek, courtesy of Steve, as the man held his son’s limp body in his arms and gently laid him in bed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The next morning, Peter stumbled out of his room to find Steve and Tony seated across from each other in the kitchen. Padding down the hall, he stopped, listening intently for any conversation. Peter peered around the doorframe at the two men, who sat with their heads lowered, gazing down at the red scrap of fabric between them.

“… there is no way I’m allowing this to continue,” Steve had just finished. Peter cleared his throat.

“Morning,” he said dully.

“Peter,” the two responded, almost in unison.

Before they had any chance to divert the conversation, Peter waved them off and snapped, “I’m sorry, Pop, but whether you do or don’t allow it, it’s happening. I can’t just  _stop_ , okay? It’s literally part of who I am.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Peter, I’m not going to sit by and watch you put yourself in situations where…” Steve shook his head. “We’re not having a repeat of last night.”

“You watch Dad go out and put himself in those exact same situations all the time, you fight alongside him!”

“Your father’s a grown man, Peter, and besides that I don’t tell him what to do. When we’re out there, he’s not Tony anymore. He’s Iron Man.”

“Why can’t I be Spider-Man instead of Peter?”

"Peter, for God’s sake, you might call yourself Spider-Man but you’re still just a kid.”

“Steve,” Tony said abruptly. “He’s not a kid, or he won’t be for much longer anyway.” Steve froze, staring from Peter to Tony in confusion.

“Don’t… don’t tell me you’re condoning this.” Steve’s brow knit itself together incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

“Of course I’m not condoning this,” Tony snapped. “I just think that at some point we’re going to have to accept the fact that he’s going to make his own decisions-”

“I don’t believe this.”

“-and trust that we’ve raised him to know better.”

“Tony.” Steve said slowly, deliberately. “Our son almost died last night.”

“ _Spider-Man_  almost died last night. And yet he lives to see another day, much the same as the rest of us do whenever we have a bad night.” Tony retorted. “He knows enough now  _not to play the hero_  and let the rest of us cover our own backs if we need to, right?” Peter nodded uncertainly.

Steve shook his head. After an eternity, he mutely held the mask back to Peter.

“I don’t like this, Peter, but I guess your father’s right.” Peter turned the mask over in hand, too amazed to speak just yet. Steve stood and enveloped Peter in an embrace, whispering, “No more secrets, okay? Not from us.”

Peter swallowed thickly as he nodded. “Okay.”

“And son?”

“Pop?”

“Thank you.”


End file.
